


Watch The Morning Come

by leiascully



Category: British Actor RPF, Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Begging, F/M, Holidays, Long-Distance Relationship, One Night Stands, Phone Sex, Sex Toys, Skype
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-16 10:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex knows that kissing Matt is lovely.  She didn't know it could feel like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: post-filming "Name of the Doctor", whenever that was  
> A/N: I usually write things that are all happy fluff. This might have some unhappiness. More is planned, but it may take a while to materialize. Title inspired by the James Taylor song "Carolina In My Mind".  
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction that bears no resemblance to and claims no knowledge of the people about whom it is written.

Alex is packing when her phone buzzes. The interruption isn't unwelcome. She isn't best fond of packing, though the closer she gets to seeing her daughter, the happier she is. She picks up her mobile and looks at the screen. A text from Matt. 

_Come round mine if you have a mo? xx_

She smiles to herself. It's her last day of filming, and it's been an emotional one. They all went out for drinks earlier, but couldn't even summon up much of a holiday mood. Since Matt decided it was leaving, it feels the end of something and it's still too new to celebrate - nobody else is even finished filming. She's sure that Matt's actual farewell party will be much more boisterous - Karen and Arthur have promised faithfully to come, oceans and employment be damned - but tonight was quiet and sweet, all of them just relieved to be out of costume and off the set. 

"I really am sorry about the slapping," Alex said to Neve at one point. 

"Quite all right," Neve told her. "At least I had a bit of cushion."

"Oi," Matt said, slinging his arm over Alex's shoulders. "You've slapped me loads more times than her, and I never got an apology."

"Sorry, darling, I always thought you rather enjoyed it," Alex teased him, sipping at her wine. 

"And who would notice, with that face?" Catrin quipped. Everyone laughed as Matt managed to glower and shrug all at once, his arm still warm around Alex. She leaned into his side. Quite casual touchy-feely, her family Pond, like a bunch of puppies. She didn't mind, though. It would have been strange for him not to touch her, after all this time and all this flirting for the camera, as if the absence of Arthur and Karen changed anything about their friendship.

All in all, it was a lovely night and exactly what she needed. Saying goodbye to River had been more difficult than she expected, and saying goodbye to River and the Doctor nearly broke her own heart. An evening out brought her back to herself. After a few glasses of wine, she came home to put her things in order. Apparently he slipped out as well.

She pulls on her dressing gown and finds her slippers. Her hair's been in her face all night, so she ties it back. She's in her nightie, which is slippy and satiny, but it nearly covers the subject. Besides, Matt is young enough and old enough to have seen her naked on-screen. A little bit of leg shouldn't flummox him. Heaven knows she's seen plenty of him in the movies he's released in the last few years. Anyway, it shouldn't take long, and she doubts anyone will see her.

The block of flats seems empty without Karen and Arthur. Alex misses them, rowdy silliness and all. They bring so much life to the place, and to her. She pads down the corridor to Matt's flat. Almost before she knocks, he's opened the door and is ushering her in, his fingers grazing the small of her back.

"Sorry, Kingston," he says in a voice that seems a little huskier than usual. "Didn't mean to get you out of bed."

"I was packing," she tells him. 

He looks her over and raises one of those skimpy eyebrows. "That's what you wear to pack? Blimey, what's date wear?"

She shoves at his shoulder. "Oh, push off, Smith." He grins and looks through his hair at her. "What did you want, anyway? I've still got packing to do."

"I hadn't had you to myself all night," he says. "Do I need another reason?"

"The last of the Ponds is an old woman who needs her sleep," she says, pretending to stifle a yawn. "Hence the costume."

"Leaving tomorrow?" he asks. 

She nods. "Back to L.A. for a bit, and then the Scottish play, you know. You?"

"L.A. might be in the works," he says. "And then Detroit for this film. And then back for the fiftieth and Christmas, which, will I see you?"

"You'll know when I do," she tells him. "I haven't the faintest."

"Lies," he says comfortably. 

"Spoilers," she corrects with a wink. "So, wrapping up Who. And then?"

He scrunches up his face and blows out a long breath. "Ooh. Anywhere. Kazza and Arthur are making it in America. Maybe I'll try the States for a while."

"Well, I've got a guest room if you end up homeless and Kaz gets tired of you taking up her couch," she teases, reaching up to pat his cheek. 

"I'll keep that in mind," he murmurs.

His hazel eyes are distractingly dark in the low light of his flat. Lord, she really has let the day affect her if a few glasses of wine and an oddly handsome face are enough to take her mind off tomorrow's flight. Then again, she was kissing him a few hours ago - now and again that leaves a lingering impression. She's suddenly a little more aware of the way that her nightie skims the middle of her thighs, and her dressing gown isn't much longer. 

"You wanted me for something," she reminds him.

"Selfish of me," he says. "But! Yes! I have something." He lopes away and rummages behind the sofa. After a moment, he pulls out a bag and brings it to her. She peers inside: wrapped presents.

"For Salome," he says. "I mean, if that's all right."

"Surely you're joking," she says. "She'll be delighted. She asks after you every time." 

"Good," he says. "Good! Because she's a great kid, yeah? The best."

"I think so," Alex said. "But I admit I may be slightly biased. But you're the Doctor - she adores you." She laughs. "I think she had a little crush on you when you first met her."

The tips of Matt's ears turn endearingly pink. "Ah. Um. Well, let her down gently, but I'm definitely only into older women. Mid-to-late twenties and up."

"Especially up?" Alex teases. "You certainly had a little something going in the episode with Helen McCrory."

"Residual flirting," he says dismissively. "That was right after the Angels. The Doctor had got used to flirting with mature women. Besides, sexy fish vampire. How's anyone supposed to resist that?"

"I see," she teases. "You like your women wet, eh?"

"Mm, well, you could say that," he says, sounding slightly flustered. "But, you know, the good way. Not the 'oh she never comes out with us, she's too good for all of this' way."

"I can't imagine," Alex says, amused. She yawns for real this time. "I suppose I'd better get back. Thank you, love. I'm sure Salome will be ecstatic. And who knows? Maybe I'll see you for Christmas. Or even the fiftieth - you know how mysterious Steven likes to be about it."

"It feels weird to say see you when I see you," he says, his face intent. "You're practically a fixed point."

"It does a bit," she agrees. "It's been a sure thing for so long. But you'll see me again."

"I hope so," he says, and something in his voice has changed. 

"It's a sure thing," she tells him, shifting the bag of gifts to her other hand. "Salome would never forgive me if you just disappeared from our lives. It isn't as if we won't all be texting."

"Not quite the same," he says. He steps closer to her, until she's looking up at him. He isn't much taller than she is, really, but her head still tips back. His eyes are serious. He ducks his head slightly to the side, and there's a little smile on his lips she can't quite read. He looks happy and sad and anxious all at once. Well, it was an emotional day for him as well, surely. 

"Do you need a goodbye hug?" she teases him. "Or are you looking for a good night kiss? I would have thought all those takes earlier would have been enough kissing this old woman for one day." She offers him her cheek. 

"Alex," he says, and his hands come up to cup her face. His thumbs stroke over her cheekbones and she's gone breathless all of a sudden. "I had to know."

"Had to know what, darling?" she asks. He leans in, little by little, his eyes searching hers, and he really is going to kiss her. She isn't certain why he's acting as if they've never kissed before - she remembers take after take for those four or five episodes under the heat of the lights, searching for a happy medium between passionate and rated-for-children. One more kiss can't possibly upend the world. She reaches up to close the gap between them, and _ach, du leiber Gott in Himmel_ , she was so very, very, incredibly wrong.

Kissing Matt is always magical. Her blood fizzes, her skin tingles, and her hair takes on a special life of its own. Best of all, he kisses as if he means it every single time. She gets lost in his kiss. It's startling to hear the scene called, and she can tell he feels it too, because they laugh. In her long history of kissing people for the camera, he certainly ranks among her favorites.

Every kiss they've ever shared is nothing next to this one. It's like lightning strikes her, rooting her to the floor. Electricity sizzles under her skin. The bag of gifts drops from her fingers. Her arms are around him before she can even think of it, her body rising to settle against his. One of his hands is in her hair, and Christ, she never knew how much he was holding back before, or how much she was either. He's pouring his heart and soul into this kiss, and it feels as if her own heart is expanding until it's too much for her body to contain, until they're floating out of their own skins.

She knows now what he needed to know. She can't fathom the fact that she didn't know it before. But now it feels like the only truth in the world. There aren't even words for this thing between them. _Eureka._ A moment of inspiration. 

She's tugging at his t-shirt before she even knows what her hands are doing. His fingers fumble at the sash of her dressing gown. She shrugs out of it impatiently, desperate to feel her skin against his. He groans when she breaks the kiss to skin his t-shirt over his head, and for a moment she's dizzy, and then his lips are back on hers and the world is steady again. Her bare arms around his bare back and if she thought they were connected before, she'd swear they're nearly in each other's minds now. It's like nothing she's ever felt before.

He tries to back off a little, to prolong those moments of hushed anticipation when his lips and hers are barely brushing and the heat of their breath scorches their skin, but neither of them can stand it. She wants to breathe him in. She wants him in her blood, in her bones. She wants to forget that they inhabit two separate bodies. She can't imagine anything but his mouth and her mouth and, God, the way his tongue teases hers. He's possessive about his body, his hands and his lips claiming hers, but she's claiming him right back, marking her territory with teeth and tongue and the flats of her palms pressing his body to hers. _Mine._ She's been swept up by men who wanted to own her before. This is different. Matt gives back as much as he asks, freely and gladly. She can feel the dizzy whirl of desire, but she's on solid footing this time, safe and steady as joy whips around her.

She doesn't know how much later the joy of it overwhelms her - she's only measuring time by the ragged rhythm of their breath and the pounding of her heart - but it's too much and they both break the kiss. His forehead rests against hers. Her arms are still tight around him. She wants him so much that her breasts ache and her knees are weak; her cunt feels hot and heavy and she presses against the bulge of him. 

"Oh, fuck, _Alex_ ," he breathes, looking at her as if there has never been anyone more beautiful in all the world. She would flinch from the wonder in his eyes if she weren't looking back at him, captivated. 

"Yes," she says, and it's the answer to every question they're not asking. She's finished with holding back. She's done with fear. They may never work together again. There's no reason to be cautious. Her heart may break, but she had lost it already and never known. This could be the end of everything and she doesn't care: if they have this one night, that will be enough. 

"Yes," she says again, and the light of his eyes ignites the spark in her heart until she would swear that even her bones are glowing with the intensity of this thing happening between them.

He's still cradling her face between his hands as if she's a precious thing, a work of art. She turns her lips against his palm and then reaches up to take his hand. She leads him down the corridor and he follows her without a word. In the hush of his bedroom, she slips out of her nightie. He undoes his jeans, his eyes on her. He can't stop watching her. She revels in the expression on his face as he kicks off his jeans and his pants. She pushes her knickers down her legs and then they're naked in front of each other, as if it were possible to reveal anything more than they've already shown. 

He opens his arms and she walks into them.

Another kiss: another lightning strike. Skin against skin, they share the crackle of desire. It passes through them, electrifying every nerve without scorching. Every touch is an epiphany. Every caress is a miracle. She draws him down onto the bed. Their legs tangle together like a Celtic knot - no beginning and no end to them, infinite significance caught in every curve and cross. Her body pulses with need, but there's a sweetness to it. In due time, she'll be satisfied. The anticipation is part of the pleasure.

They explore each other's bodies, lips and tongue and fingertips mapping out the hidden spaces, the things they never show to other people. There are no secrets between them. She would swear that he can find every one of her most sensitive spots and touch her just the way she likes. His hands skim over the raw places where her nerves are too close to the surface, where a touch will turn her inside out in the wrong way. She is amazed to realize how much she knows about his body. He's lean, surprisingly athletic, surprisingly graceful off his feet. The muscles of his stomach flex under her fingertips. His shoulders fit the curve of the palms of her hands. His hips rest snugly against hers. Their hearts beat in time. 

When the moment is right, she rolls onto her back, her arm snug around his waist. He follows her easily, leaning over her. She is still kissing him, can't stop kissing him. She guides his fingers between her legs and he strokes her. She's nearly astounded that he can be so attentive to the signs of her body and so wrapped up in their kiss all at once. Her body rises against his. She gasps into his mouth. He laughs very softly, the sound all delight and comfort, and she chuckles along with him until she's moaning. Oh, God, she wants him so badly, all of him.

She reaches down again and stills his fingers. He gazes into her eyes and she smiles at him and lets her fingers trail over his cock. He's hard and hot and smooth as silk, and she loves the way his eyelids flutter when she grazes that sensitive spot. He kisses her gently, as if they've been doing this for ages, as if the heat of their desire hasn't become a conflagration. She is going gladly up in flames with him, but this kiss is a soft breeze on a summer evening, a moment of rest in an urgent world, an acknowledgement that nothing can be the same now that they know. The immensity of it almost brings tears to her eyes. They could stop right now, or they can take the plunge together, and he leaves it in her hands.

She spreads her legs a little further and welcomes him into her body. The pressure of his cock at her entrance is welcome and delicious; he eases in, letting her adjust to him. She sighs with pleasure. He feels so _right_. They feel right together. He kisses her softly, searchingly. The expression on his face is achingly tender. She's so happy that her chest is tight. She rolls her hips against his and it's perfect.

He moves in her and she'd swear she hears music. Their bodies are composing a symphony of pleasure; above the rolling drumbeat of their hearts, bliss rises and ebbs like the swell of strings. When he reaches for her clit, it's a crash of cymbals, a shock of joy that almost startles her. They're both moaning, unashamed, kissing each other when they can catch a breath. She can't get enough of touching him. Her thoughts float past her, carried by the steady crescendo of ecstasy as he thrusts into her and she presses back against him, unwilling to lose contact for a single moment. 

How has she never known until now that things would be like this between them? How has she never understood that the way he touched her meant something? How has she never imagined that their celebrated chemistry might be more than an act?

Whatever happens next, she will remember this forever. She'll remember the way he gazes at her, eyes glazed with longing, still attentive to her needs. She'll remember the way he feels inside her, strong and sensual. She'll remember how his body trembles against hers, how he makes sure that she comes first, how he watches her with longing and delight as she cries out and clutches at him, how he holds and soothes her until she's ready for him to move again. How he never closes his eyes. How beautiful his face is as he comes. How he looks at her as if she's the answer to a prayer. How he slips out of bed to find a washcloth to clean her up. How he wraps his arms around her and tucks his face against her shoulder. How she rolls to fit her body into the curve of his and how he kisses the nape of her neck.

She knows she should go. There's the packing to finish and her flight tomorrow, and she's too old to slink out of his flat in the morning in last night's clothes. But she can't bring herself to leave the warm circle of his arm and the quiet puff of his breath against her skin. She is desired. She is cherished. She is absolutely exhausted. 

One night, she promises herself as she's drifting off to sleep. One night before she goes back to reality and her other life. One night to dream a beautiful dream with her body snug against his. Tomorrow will bring what it brings.

Her sleep is deep and sweet; her dreams are bliss. Still, she wakes before he does, and manages to ease out of bed without disturbing him. She slips on her nightie and her dressing gown and finds her slippers. She can't resist one last look. He is sprawled over the bed, his body still curled up to make a space for her. 

She leaves, closing the door quietly behind her, and takes a deep breath. She steps into the day that will carry her west, away from dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex flies back to L.A., but she's worried about what was left unsaid.

The impact of what's happened doesn't really hit Alex until she's on the plane. Once she got back to her flat, she was wrapped up in packing, throwing everything madly into her suitcase, and then she had to scramble to get to the airport after the world's fastest shower. She fretted her way through security and then had to find breakfast. With one thing and another, she hasn't had a single moment to think until now, when the plane is winging its way over the Atlantic and she's trying to choose between the in-flight movie or a nap. Her seatmate immediately downed a pill and put on a sleep mask. The cabin lights are dim. There's nothing to do but sit and think and suddenly, vividly, relive the events of last night. Alex can't help blushing as the ghosts of Matt's hands slide over her. She presses her fingertips to her tingling lips. She is slightly and pleasantly sore - she relishes the discomfort as a reminder that _this really happened_.

She's just shared the most intimate, passionate night of her life with a friend and coworker nearly half her age, and she didn't even wake him up to say goodbye. 

"Alexandra, what have you done now?" she says quietly to herself. Her seatmate snores. 

Immediately she's rationalizing. He had an early call this morning (as if a kiss would have stolen much of his sleep). He knew she had a plane to catch (all the more reason to say goodbye). He might have been ashamed (she doubts it, given the way he looked at her last night, but the thought still stings). It wouldn't have made any difference to say goodbye, since she was still leaving no matter what (and she knows much better than that, how even one right word at the right time can save or ruin a person). 

On top of it all, she's gone and left his gifts for her daughter. An oversight, definitely, but she knows it will look like rejection. She can't text him - her phone is off and tucked away in her bag. She could email him, but what would she say? "Last night felt a turning point of my entire life. See you never, potentially. xx"

She blushes again thinking of that first kiss. Funny how with so many of their storylines lately about remaking the universe, he's rewritten hers. She likes the story he's telling her: in that narrative, she's loved and valued, the answer to every question he's ever asked. It's a fiction, she knows. Matt can't possibly know her that well, can't have thought of her sharp tongue and her habit of saying the wrong thing or the way she deals with sadness and clings to lost causes. But it's a beautiful fiction. In the non-fiction version of her life, she's an essentially single mother soldiering through the ruins of another failed relationship, struggling to maintain a life on two continents in an industry that has increasingly fewer roles for her, waiting for the paperwork to come in the mail. She loves her daughter and she loves her work, but it hasn't been easy.

It should be simple to walk away from this. It was only one night, after all. It was a grueling day and they'd both had a bit to drink (she was sober as a stone, but she has to tell herself something). One night hardly means anything, in the scheme of things. One night can't change the world.

It's common enough in the theater that emotions spill over into actions. She's seen it before. Hell, she's been swept up in it before. It's unavoidable when you live with your feelings outside your skin and you get paid for the intensity of your reactions. People get overwrought. They overreact. They fuck like rabbits. She flinches a little at the harshness of the word. She can't reconcile it with the sweetness of their lovemaking. If only his lips hadn't made so many promises. If only his hands hadn't been so eloquent. She could weep for the loss of the peace she found in his arms. 

She would feel guilty about it, except that she's certain that Florian has profited from their separation, so to speak. There's been nothing like that between her and her technically-still-husband for longer than she can remember. Sex got too tied up with the pain of not being able to have more children. She doesn't begrudge him a minute of it. Everyone wants to feel desired. Everyone deserves to be held the way that Matt held her. She can't feel guilty about it. It was too beautiful.

God, she wishes she were anywhere but stuck on the plane. She wants to pace up and down or go to the gym or take a long walk. Her brain goes round and round. She'll never sleep now. She could order a glass of wine, but then she'll just end up landing with a headache, as if she hasn't got enough to deal with.

The in-flight movie is awful but she stares doggedly into the screen, the soundtrack a little too loud in her headphones. After it's over, she pulls out a dog-eared paperback copy of four of Shakespeare's tragedies that she picked up in a used book shop. She turns to _Macbeth_ and reads through it with excruciating care, making notes in the margins. When she's done, she reads it again, and then once more, concentrating on Lady M's lines, imagining them in her own voice. The flight attendants bring around meals and tea. She gets that down and then gets up to use the lavatory, just to stretch her legs. She watches another movie, thinking about _Macbeth_.

In the back of her mind, she keeps hearing the way he said her name. 

She's not sure she's ever been so glad to get off a plane. She turns on her phone as soon as she's through the gate: she's got emails, a text from Arthur, one from her sister, and one from Florian. Nothing from Matt. She's simultaneously incredibly relieved and incredibly disappointed, as if she's a teenager all over again. She lets Florian know she's on the ground and pulls herself together. Customs seems to take an age, but finally she's out of the airport and on her way home. She sweeps her daughter into her arms and accepts a kiss on the cheek from Florian. They all go out to lunch together and then Alex insists on taking Salome shopping. She's missed her daughter terribly.

Alex keeps going until Salome is tucked into bed - she's too old for regular bedtime stories, but never too old for tales of cast and crew, it seems - and Florian has left, after working out a few details. Shared custody is a burden of compromise on both of them, but she's grateful that he hasn't ever fought her. For all his precise ways (and she should have expected that from a German journalist), he's always been willing to deal with her messy schedule. That's one less plate she has to keep spinning. She collapses on the sofa with a glass of wine, weary to her bones. Her phone is glowing again - she should really text Arthur and Nicola back. But there's nothing from Matt. 

She wonders if he's furious with her. She wonders if he's upset. She picks up her wine and chides herself. He's probably asleep. He had a busy day today. Probably didn't have the energy to text.

 _Ach_ , what is she doing to herself?

She turns on the television, but she isn't listening to a word. Finally, she picks up her phone. 

_Sorry about the morning - in a rush. Ship Sal's gifts if you like? I'll pay._ She hesitates, then adds two kisses to the end and presses send before she can talk herself out of it. 

Her phone buzzes a moment later, unexpectedly. _Fine. No worry._

 _Sorry if I woke you_ , she texts back. 

_'S fine, early makeup anyway. x_

She could cry with relief at the single kiss. It isn't his usual, but it's something. She hasn't bollocksed up everything. Above all, she doesn't want to lose his friendship. Matt matters to her, and so do Karen and Arthur. Nobody should feel like they have to pick sides if this ends badly. She would miss their Family Pond act desperately if she ruined this. They feel like family to her. They've all traveled in the TARDIS together, and as silly as that sounds, it means something. It's not a show you can casually drop into. It's a rite of passage, and they've gone through it together. 

She should text him again. They should talk about this like adults. Then again, she'd have to know how she feels and what she wants to make that happen, and right now, all she wants is _him_ , and that's incredibly irresponsible. She wants last night to happen over and over again. She wants to lose herself for a few hours in the glory of the thing between them. She wants to wake up in his arms and not have to slip out like a thief in the night.

Funny. She thought she'd rid herself of feeling entitled to happiness long ago.

She texts Arthur, who's offering her tickets to his show if she makes it to New York in a few months, to tell him he's a sweet boy. She'll text Nic later. Not everybody has an early makeup call. But Karen, oh, Karen's in L.A. now. Kaz knows Matt best of any of them. She'll know what Alex ought to do, even if it's forget everything. Alex drinks her wine and types out a message.

_Coffee soon? REALLY need to talk._

The phone buzzes. _Coffee now? Or are you busy being a mum?_

Alex laughs. _Bit late. See you tomorrow, mother dear?_

_Duh. Pond girls stick together. Bringing S?_

Alex bites her lip. _Not her kind of talk. Another time._

Karen texts back immediately. _I am literally dying with anticipation. All-knowing Kingston needing advice not for tweenly ears? WHAT COULD IT BE._

 _Don't get too excited_ , Alex texts.

 _TOO LATE_ , Karen replies.

"Bless," Alex says aloud. 

Her phone buzzes insistently. _Spill!_

 _Jet lag_ , Alex tells her. _And it's too much for text. In person's best._

 _I could come over now,_ Karen suggests. _I'll be quiet as a mouse. Won't wake the bairn, I swear._

 _Tomorrow_ , Alex tells her. _Knackered._

 _Fine, sleep_ , Karen says. _Talk soonest. xx_ And then another: _Glad you're back. LA is SO WEIRD._

Alex laughs again. _Talk soon. xx_

She yawns. After so many flights like this, she would have thought she'd be over jet lag, but she isn't yet. At least she's managed to stay up this long. She puts her wine glass in the kitchen and makes her way through her evening routine. Flying always makes her feel grimy, so she has a bath and lets the hot water soak her stress away. She cleans her teeth and smooths moisturizer over her face. LA is much warmer, but not quite as humid somehow. She's got to take care of herself. 

The woman in the mirror looks the same as last night. She isn't sure what she was expecting. She feels different.

"Stop it," she tells herself. "It isn't as if that was your first time. The sentimental act isn't going to get you anywhere, Kingston."

She stares herself down and then pads into the bedroom to slip between her lovely clean sheets. Finally, her own bed. It's much nicer than the beds in the BBC flats. Still, she can't help a moment of nostalgia for last night. Even a mediocre bed can seem splendid, as long as there's a lean warm body in it to curl around hers.

She's exhausted, but she's restless. She's afraid to fall asleep in case her dreams replay last night, and at the same time she's afraid they won't. He probably doesn't even care, she rationalizes, except that she knows, she _knows_ that nobody kisses like that unless they mean it. Either he's going to win every award from now until the end of time (provided he can get his mouth close enough to the judges') or there's something between them that they left unsaid.

They really should have talked more. Then again, she can't regret a moment of the way they spent their time. 

She lies on her back gazing up at the ceiling. There's a formless hope rising in her that she can't give voice to. It's too new and too precious and too terrifying. She could lose herself in him, and she promised she'd never let that happen again. There's too much else she stands to lose.

It takes a long time to fall asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt wakes up with the feeling that something's wrong.

Matt wakes up with the feeling that something's wrong. He stretches out his arm for his phone and is startled by the empty space in the bed, which is odd, because it's generally empty these days, except for...

 _Alex_.

"Fuck," he says to the ceiling. He can tell by the silence in the flat that she's already gone. If it weren't for the washcloth slung over his bedpost and a few curly blond hairs on the other pillow, he wouldn't believe she was here at all.

"Shitfuck," he elaborates. He's scared her off somehow, because he is a complete idiot. Just to be certain, he checks his phone. Nothing. He's got to get up in a few minutes anyway if he's going to have time to make it to the set. God, he would have at least thought she'd've texted, if she wasn't going to say goodbye. Even if last night didn't mean a thing to her, he still would have imagined that she'd let him off gently. 

He flings himself back on the bed. "Shitfucking arse-tits!" 

He is a complete and utter tosser. It took him what felt like an age of man to screw up the courage to tell her he has feelings for her (understatement of the decade, if not the century), and now he's gone and ruined it. He thought last night was good. Better than good. Last night was a bloody revelation, is what it was, about what sex can be when the person you're with is the person you _should_ be with. When your heart's really in it along with the rest of you. He would have sworn she felt it too. He might see her lingering for a (really incredible world-shattering life-changing) pity fuck (the wrong word entirely for what they were doing, which was so sweet and tender he can hardly breathe thinking of it), but he can't imagine her leaving without a word after he's finally gone and told her that he loves her, that she's the stars in his sky and the blood in his veins and all that other poetry he never understood until she strode into his life.

No. Wait. He never said. All he said was her name, and then after that, they said really nothing at all. Not with out loud, anyway. Apparently he shouldn't put so much faith in the expressiveness of his hands.

"Smith, you complete duffer," he says, and briefly tries to smother himself with a pillow.

No wonder she left. But he'd thought they'd understood each other. He'd thought they might make something of the Thing between them. He checks his phone again - not even a text, and surely she'd have had time to text by now, even if she's finishing up the packing he so rudely interrupted. Surely if last night mattered, she would have said something. He stares at his phone, willing it to light up with her name. He used to do nearly the same thing with his birthday presents, as if he looked long enough and hard enough all the secrets would be revealed. But this is more important than a birthday. This feels like it could be the rest of his life.

His alarm goes off, startling him, and he silences it. He's barely got time for a shower before he's got to be in makeup - at least he can talk somebody into bringing him tea and a croissant before he's wanted on set. He rushes through bathing, checks his phone again, swears to himself, throws on clothes, checks his phone, swears, and stumbles toward the door. On his way he trips over the bag of things that he got for Salome, and that's when he lets go of the fantasy that she's going to text him saying that she's _so sorry, darling, had to rush off, last night was incredible, can we skype soon?_ She doesn't even want the gifts he got for her daughter, who's a sweet kid he's always liked having around on set. 

Hell, what does he know about love anyway? She's been married twice. Maybe it always feels like that, like the world is finally _right_. Maybe for her it wasn't anything special.

He sulks through his tea during makeup. He sulks through putting on his Doctor suit. He sulks through his scenes, which is fine - he's supposed to be emotional about losing River and losing Clara and coming to the end of his life. He's supposed to be mourning, and today he doesn't really have to act.

"Are you all right?" Jenna asks him between takes, her little pixie face screwed up with concern. "Only you don't seem yourself today."

"I'm fine," he mutters.

"You're not," she says cheerfully, and she isn't Karen, but he could have done worse than a series of costars who treat him like their slightly hopeless brother. 

"I'm fine," he insists. "I'm here. I'm Doctoring. I'm fine."

"Kingston throw you over?" Jenna asks, giving him the wise eyes, and he jumps.

"No, shut up," he says, hunching into his coat.

"Ah, a sore point," she says. "Didn't expect that, but I suppose a little deduction doesn't go amiss."

"You're on the wrong show for that," he says. "And seriously, shut up."

"Because the only person who was here yesterday and isn't here today is Alex," she continues blithely, tapping one finger on her chin, and now she's really reminding him of an annoying little sister. Karma, perhaps, for all the times he was a brat to Laura.

"Could be the weather," he suggests. "Football. No chocolate digestives on the tea cart. Sore from the slapping yesterday - I missed catching her wrist, the once."

"Yeah, but it isn't any of those things," Jenna says. "I saw the two of you. You never kissed me like that for the Christmas special."

"It was in the script," he says. "As was the other one, I mean, it wasn't supposed to be...whatever this was. River and Clara are different, but it's all in the script."

"Oho, not all of it," she says back, raising her eyebrows. "I might be newer than you, but that doesn't mean I can't notice things, and that wasn't all acting, Smithers. Even at the table read, you couldn't take your eyes off her."

"I think you're imagining things," he mutters.

Jenna puts her hand on his arm. "Matt. I'm not. And you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but you can if you like. I mean, she's a hell of a lady."

He sighs and it feels like it comes all the way up from his heels, emptying him out. "Yeah. She is." He looks at Jenna and lets himself smile a little, though he's afraid it's a feeble effort. "Thanks."

"I was right?" she asks. "I was right!" She does a ridiculous little dance and he rolls his eyes. She stops suddenly and puts her hands on her hips, and he really does miss Kazza. "Well, tell her!"

"I did," he says. "Kind of. Not really. A bit."

"And she said..." Jenna prompts.

He sighs again. "Nothing. But we didn't have much of a chance to talk about it." That's one way to put it, he thinks. They were otherwise occupied.

"Call her!" Jenna suggests. "Make it happen."

"She's on a plane," Matt says. "And I'm not sure she wants to talk to me."

"Is it your chin?" Jenna asks, tipping her head to one side. "Because I can see her point. But it seemed like she liked your chin. A lot."

"You're not helping," he tells her. 

"Shush," she tells him. "When does she land?"

"I don't know," Matt tells her. "It's not like she forwards me her daily diary."

"We'll soon change that," Jenna says. 

"You stop at nothing now?" Matt asks.

Jenna twinkles at him. "The path of true love never did run smooth, Matthew. But at least we can make that path a little shorter."

"Not sure that's how that metaphor works," he mutters. 

Jenna looks like she's going to say something else, but then they're called back, and he manages to convince her not to bring it up again later. He has dinner by himself in his flat and then falls into his bed. His other pillow still smells of Alex's hair. He tries not to cuddle up to it like a complete loser. 

He sleeps badly, waking to check his phone. Finally, ridiculously early, it lights up and there's a message from her. 

_Sorry about the morning - in a rush. Ship Sal's gifts if you like? I'll pay. xx_

That doesn't sound like she never wants to see him again. It doesn't sound much like she does want to see him either, despite the two kisses, but at least it isn't the worst-case. Those might have been a mistake, or habit - they're all used to typing them, like a period at the end of a sentence. His heart can't decide what to do; it settles for squeezing hard and then thumping painfully a few times. He presses his chest and types out a message. 

_Fine. No worry._ He can't bring himself to type the kisses out - he's had enough rejection for one day, and he isn't going to push himself on her if she doesn't want him. It took him so long to realize he was in love with her, and longer still to do a damn thing about it, and what he gets in return are messages that sound like she took the last Jammy Dodger or forgot to feed his cat.

 _Sorry if I woke you_ , she texts back.

Don't be, he wants to tell her, because I can't help my heart leaping even at a stupid text like this. You might have woken me yesterday, he wants to tell her. God, he's so stupidly in love and so glad and so sad and so angry at himself, and a little bit at her. But it's too much for the hour, and far too much for a text. If she doesn't want to talk about it, they won't talk. He'll soldier on as if nothing happened, and he'll clutch his stupid pillow until he can't smell her hair anymore, like some kind of lovesick teenage serial killer. But she's waiting to hear something, so he taps out an inane little nothing. _'S fine, early makeup anyway. x_

She doesn't text back after that. He calculates the time zones. She's probably off to bed. It'll have been a long day for her. Well, he's got a long day ahead of him. He might as well start dragging himself through it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen gives surprisingly good advice sometimes.

Alex ends up just going to Karen's flat to make things simple and safe - everyone knows that Kaz is an inexperienced driver, even in countries where they drive on the correct side of the road. She also picks up tea for the both of them, because she's fairly certain that Karen won't wait until they get somewhere to start interrogating her, and she's absolutely certain that she doesn't want to be anywhere public once Karen starts shrieking.

"Spill," Karen demands as soon as she answers the door. "Wait. Is it the next Doctor? Are you the next Doctor? Has Moff gone absolutely mad?"

Alex laughs. "Nothing like that. Look, I brought you tea."

"Is it cold?" Karen asks suspiciously. 

"Am I English?" Alex says wryly. "Proper hot tea, look."

Karen picks up her cup and wraps her hands around it despite the fact that it's in the 70s. "Next guess. Please tell me you're not getting back together with your ex."

" _Definitely_ not," Alex says. "For everyone's sake."

"Well," Karen says, taking a sip of her tea, "then Smith must have confessed his undying love."

Alex tries to be cool about it, but the thought that he actually really does love her is like another flash of lightning. She remembers the sweet heat their bodies made and can't find the words. Besides, she's blushing all the way to the roots of her hair, so that's given the game away. 

Karen squeals. "Oh my god! He did it! He finally went and did it!"

"Finally?" Alex manages to say.

Karen gives her a Look. "Oh, _please_ , Alex. Have you really not noticed."

"There was nothing to notice!" Alex protests. 

Karen scoffs. "Yes, aside from the constant touching and the complete lack of personal space and his great big cow eyes and the fact that he hasn't had a steady girlfriend since he and Daisy ended it. Who did you think he was waiting for?"

"Anybody else?" Alex suggests, fanning her face and sipping at her tea.

"And all that _kissin'_ ," Karen says, sounding extra Scottish. "I never got that much tongue, which, come to think of it, is the best possible outcome there. No, it was definitely you."

"But why?" Alex asks. "He could have literally anyone he wanted. Why on earth would he want me? I'm divorced. I'm barely working, and that's in two different countries. I've got a daughter - that doesn't make things easy. I'm nearly twice his age."

Karen shrugs. "Nobody ever said that love made sense." She knocks her shoulder affectionately against Alex's. "Besides, none of those things make you not-a-catch. So you're experienced. He likes that. And you're gorgeous and talented and compassionate and a million other good things."

Alex has to take a swallow of her tea to keep her eyes from prickling. Her heart is soaring and aching all at once. She certainly doesn't always feel like she's any of the things that Karen just said. The fact that Kaz and Arthur and Matt (and Steven, she supposes, in a different way) see her this way is a buffer against the bad days. 

"All better?" Karen asks, rubbing Alex's shoulder. 

Alex nods. 

"He'd be an idiot if he didn't love you," Karen says. "More than he is, I mean. Because obviously he's still an idiot."

"Thank you," Alex tells her.

"So, tell me everything," Karen says, pulling up her feet to sit cross-legged on the sofa. "I want to know every detail."

Alex raises an eyebrow, back in control. "You really don't."

"Oh my god," Karen says, covering her mouth with one hand. "You didn't."

Alex smirks.

"You absolute minx!" Karen exclaims, sounding proud. "Was it...good?"

" _Es war leidenschaftlich_ ," Alex says fervently.

Karen groans. "English, bitte, we don't all speak useful languages."

"It was incredible," Alex says, and she knows her eyes are dreamy.

"So what did he say?" Karen urges.

"Nothing," Alex tells her.

"Nothing," Karen repeats flatly. "He didn't tell you about his everlasting eternal love. He didn't mention how he's pined for you. He didn't mention what a twat he turned into every single time you left."

"He said he had to know," Alex tells her. "He didn't say what he wanted to know, mind. And then he kissed me. And then neither of us did any talking."

"And no mention was made of infinite yearning?" Karen asks. "No? Eternal passion?" Alex shakes her head. Karen sighs.   
"So you let your hips do the talking, yeah? And then what?"

"Then I left," Alex says.

"What, in the middle of the night?" Karen asks. "Alex!"

"It was morning," Alex protests. "Nearly. And I hadn't finished packing and I had to make my flight."

"And he still didn't say anything?" Karen asks.

"He was asleep," Alex admits.

"Alex!" Karen says. 

"I know," Alex says mournfully. "He had an early call. I didn't want to wake him."

"You've got to at least give the bloke a chance to say a proper goodbye!" Karen says. "And tell you about his stupid heartache every time you waltz back to America. Seriously, he was unbearable every single time. Wouldn't even come out with us sometimes so he could sit in his flat and daydream about you."

"He said that?" Alex asks.

"We all knew," Karen says dismissively. "Said he was going over lines, though. Nobody believed _that_."

"No, nobody would," Alex murmurs. 

"Have you talked to him?" Karen asks.

"We texted a bit," Alex tells her, and Karen holds out her hand for Alex's phone.

"You call this texting?" she says after a moment, looking up at Alex. 

"Well," Alex says. "I know it's not very personal."

"It's a bloody public service announcement, is what it is," Karen grumbles. "You could have at least said that you missed him, or that it was the most brilliant night of your life, which, urg, but for your sake I hope it was fantastic."

"I had no idea it meant anything to him!" Alex protests. "Daisy hasn't been his only girlfriend in the last few years, if girlfriend is the right word. I never saw any of them stick around long enough to get a title."

Karen groans. "Look, Kingston, I know he's thick, and I know you didn't use your words like proper adults, but surely there must have been some clue."

Alex closes her eyes for a moment and thinks about that first kiss, the one that divided her world into Before and After, the kiss that made every molecule sing. His hands gentle around her face. Her body pressed against his. The way every emotion seemed to resonate between them. The way the universe seemed in perfect, blissful balance for as long as her lips touched his. Some clue indeed. But not enough, maybe, to build a life on. Not enough to voluntarily overturn the life she's got now, where she gets to see her daughter and she's managed to work enough to stay in the business.

"Sometimes it's easy to mistake chemistry for feelings," she says. "I haven't always been the best judge of these things. Wishing doesn't make it so."

"Yeah, but this is Matt," Karen says. "He worships you."

"You can't build a relationship on that," Alex says, and she's proud that there's only a hint of bitter pain in her voice. "Everyone falls off their pedestal sometime."

Karen leans against her. "Matt wouldn't be that way."

"You can't know," Alex says, cupping her tea in both hands. "You believe somebody's one way, and they believe it too, and then one day things change."

Karen sighs. "I'm supposed to be the bleak one here, Kingston. You're the one full of charming wisdom."

"Not all of it's very nice wisdom," Alex says. "Sorry, darling." She pats Karen's knee.

"I know it's hard," Karen says. "But it's got to be worth it sometimes, yeah? Some people stay together forever."

"I'm afraid I'm not one of those people," Alex says.

"Hey now," Karen says, scowling. "You be kind to my friend Alex. She's brilliant. Totally capable of happy ever after and all of that nonsense."

"You're biased," Alex tells her, smiling.

"Maybe," Karen says. "Maybe I just have a better perspective. Anyway, truth: do you feel anything for him?"

"That doesn't make you sound less biased," Alex says. 

"So?" Karen asks. "I want you to be happy. I want him to be happy. I want you both to be happy together. It's not a crime." She tosses her hair dramatically and pouts at Alex, who laughs.

"What if I've given up actors?" she jokes.

Karen shrugs. "He'd probably quit." Alex looks at her in astonishment. "But seriously, don't make him quit, because he's got no other skills."

"Never even crossed my mind," Alex murmurs. "But you're so wrong about the skills."

Karen hums loudly to herself until Alex stops smirking at her. "Look. He adores you. If you like him, give him a chance. Nobody says it has to be forever. It's okay to date someone."

"Breaking hearts hurts almost as much as having yours broken," Alex tells her. "If he really feels that strongly about me, I don't want to let him down."

"You can't stop him," Karen points out. "And I know you won't be cruel to him on purpose. He knows it too."

"Does he," Alex says quietly. 

"Also, you never answered my question, and don't think I didn't notice," Karen goes on, elbowing Alex. "Do you have feelings for him? After the last few years working together and the kissin' with tongue and the rest?"

Alex thinks about it for a long minute. She's always had a soft spot for him, but this means more. She can't let sex, no matter how incredible it was, cloud her judgment. Does she have actual feelings for the sweet young man who's always been so kind to her and her daughter? Does she have feelings for the clever actor with the old eyes? Does she have feelings for the man who took her in his arms and showed her a brand new world? 

Yes. Because Karen's right, there's always been something there. Even before the scripted kissing, there was always an extra dimension to their flirting. She was delighted every time he paid attention to her at parties. She ignored every twinge of her heart each time he hugged her goodbye. He's always been good with the children on set, but he was amazing with Salome. More than once, she's caught his eye across a room and not been able to look away. And she can see now that the little touches they shared weren't just friendliness. He was telling her she mattered in the only way he thought she would accept.

Yes, she cares for him. Yes, she wants him. Her still-bruised heart shies away from the word love, but he gave himself so freely to her and so fully that she can't quite quash the tendril of hope that maybe this time will be different. One night doesn't make a lifetime, but it was certainly a hell of a night. She may regret trying to make this happen, but she'll absolutely regret it if she doesn't. 

"Yes," she says, and her voice trembles a little. "I have...feelings for him."

Karen crows with delight. "I knew it! I knew it! Oh ho ho, you are going to be the most disgustingly adorable couple."

"Don't get too far ahead of yourself, dear," Alex says. "It doesn't solve anything. It certainly doesn't make the distance any less."

"No, but you can," Karen says. She picks up Alex's phone. "Tell him."

Alex takes the phone but doesn't do anything with it. "Now?"

"At least tell him something," Karen insists. "Put the poor bastard out of his misery." She gets a glint in her eye. "Or I'll tell him for you." She takes out her own phone, flicks through her texts, and lets her finger hover over Matt's name on her contacts. "'Oi, Smithers, Alex is in my flat and she says she's completely mad for you and wants to kiss you all over and hold hands in public and call each other stupid pet names forever.'"

Alex laughs. "Well, at least that would be succinct." She looks down at her phone. "Not as easy as it sounds, though."

"Start small," Karen says. "Tell him you miss him. Or you want to see him again. Or the other night was, like, mega-amazing and you're going to give him a booty call."

"I see L.A. has already started infecting you," Alex teases. She taps her text messages and sits in indecision.

"You can do it," Karen encourages. 

"This is worse than school," Alex mutters. 

Karen is typing something on her phone, but Alex is lost in her own thoughts. She doesn't pay attention as Karen opens her laptop. She's trying to find the right combination of words - not too many and not too few, not too strong or too unconvincing. It's awfully difficult, and she's terribly out of practice at beginning relationships. Karen's laptop makes a strange noise that Alex belatedly recognizes as Skype opening, and then Karen's clicking on Matt's name, and then Matt himself is on the screen, blinking into his camera and scrubbing his hand over his eyes. Alex freezes. Karen leans forward.

"All right, Smith?"

"All right," he says. "How's the moon over Los Angeles?"

"I have not got a face like the moon," Karen grumbles.

"A moon and two sticks, you said," Matt reminds her. 

"Be nice," Karen says, "because I've got a surprise for you." 

"Not another cheer-up song," Matt says wearily.

"That song was ace," Karen retorts. "But this is better." She turns the laptop toward Alex. Alex just stares and Matt stares back. Karen grins and walks into her bedroom.

"Talk it out!" she calls over her shoulder.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Matt talk it out, as ordered by a determined Scot.

They stare at each other. Alex puts down her tea and smooths her hair. She can't help leaning forward a little, as if getting closer to the screen gets her closer to Matt. He looks tired. She drinks him in with her eyes all the same. He gazes back at her.

"Hello," Alex says after a minute.

"Hey," Matt says, and fortunately there's only a slight lag in the video.

"I'm sorry," she says, all in a rush. "I was running late. I really was. I had tonnes of packing left to do, and..." She hesitates. "I didn't think you'd mind terribly much. And I couldn't have faced that, if it hadn't mattered to you."

"It isn't like that," he says, his voice a little rough. "Believe me, Alex. It isn't like that at all."

The way he says her name sends a chill down her spine. 

"It's so difficult to be certain," she says. "I've been mistaken too many times."

He runs a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I should have said."

"Well," she says. "Neither of us dealt with it very well, I suppose. Which is funny, really, because it doesn't seem like you ought to have to _deal_ with happiness."

"Were you happy?" he asks quietly. 

"Very," she assures him. "It was wonderful."

His face lights up, though he still looks weary. "I thought you left because I fucked everything up."

"No, darling," she reassures him. "It was perfect. I really thought you'd be the one to regret it."

"Never," he says fiercely.

"A failure to communicate on both sides," she says. 

He smiles at her. "Maybe we can do better next time."

"I certainly hope so," she says, and her heart feels like it's bursting into blossom in her chest. "Shall we agree that all is forgiven for now?"

"Please," he says. 

She makes a little gesture, pretending to wipe a chalkboard clean. "Done. Fresh start. Hello, Mister Smith. Lovely to see you."

"Hello, Ms Kingston," he says in a voice that she finds unbearably sexy, and if she weren't on Kazza's sofa, she isn't sure what she'd do, but she's certain it wouldn't be appropriate. "What a lucky boy I am, finding you here."

"Enjoying your new fling, are you?" she asks cheekily. 

"Oh, it's much more than a fling," he murmurs. 

"Is it," she says, playing it cool but winking at him.

"Definitely," he says with certainty. "She's an incredible woman, you know. Fancied her for ages. Really think it could be something serious, depending on how the next few months go."

"I see," she says, and God, she just wants to fling herself into his arms right now. "Probationary period?"

"For me, not her. Got to prove myself, haven't I?" he asks. "Can't just say something is real. But I think I can make my case."

"On the strength of what evidence?" she asks.

He ticks off on his fingers. "First, we spent the night together a few nights ago, and I don't mind telling you it was completely brilliant. Second, probably everybody in the entire world knows that I'm head over heels for her, because there's only so far that the whole acting bit goes. Third is how much I want to get on a plane right now and come and see her, except that I don't want to interfere with her life, because I know it's complicated." He looks at her, hazel eyes warm even through the imperfect video stream.

"That all seems in order," she says. 

"I'd say it directly to her, but I'm not sure she'd listen," he says. "She doesn't always like to hear how special she is and how much people care about her. But that's all right. I can ease into telling you that you're basically perfect."

"You're very sweet, but I'm definitely not," she says.

"My point," he says gently. "To me, for me, you're more than enough. I would never let you feel like you didn't matter to me or like you weren't enough. I mean, unless I happened to be asleep and missed my opportunity, but then I'd tell you at the next possibly opportunity."

"You might have texted," she points out.

"I might have," he said. "But you left. You didn't even take Salome's stuff, which by the by, I did post. But it doesn't exactly inspire confidence in a bloke that the grand gestures of his heart will be well-received. Or his text messages. But clean slate." He mimics her earlier motion. "Look, I'm screwing my courage to the sticking point here. I care for you, pretty much more than I thought was possible. Do you care about me?"

"Yes," she says, and if it's all she can manage, it seems to satisfy him. Her heart has grown too much; it's pressed all the words out of her.

"Should we try to make a go of it, being together?" he asks. 

"Yes," she says. 

He grins. "Next time, you won't leave right after we make passionate love all night?"

"Next time, I'll stay as long as you like," she promises, her stomach swooping as she remembers all the things that passionate lovemaking entails with him. "We'll arrange it so that I can. Maybe a weekend away to try things out."

"Good," he says. "Because getting it right is important to me. For your sake, especially. I know it hasn't always been that way for you."

"I like it when you tell me how much you...care for me just by saying my name," she tells him. "But it's easier to hear in retrospect."

"Alex," he says in that rich perfect voice. 

She laughs, her chest heaving a little with the strength of the affection that wells up in her. "I'm sorry, darling. I was just imagining - not very original, as pet names go, if you call me Alex and I call you Matt." She lets every bit of what she's been going through for the last few days color her voice, and now he's the one leaning foward into the screen. 

"I think we'll manage," he tells her, cupping his face in one hand and staring at her with dreamy eyes.

"I think we probably will," she says, smiling at him. "I have the feeling your probationary period won't last long."

"I'm willing to do what it takes," he says. "Whatever it takes and however long. I'll try to be the least troublesome asshole in your life, eh?"

"I think that would be Arthur," she teases him, and Matt scowls.

"Bastard," he says affectionately. "How am I supposed to compete? I haven't even got a guitar."

"You have other skills to recommend you," she murmurs, laughing inside as she thinks about her conversation with Kaz.

"Are you two done falling madly in love yet?" Karen says loudly from the other room. "Because I might want to access the rest of my flat at some point."

"I should be off to bed anyway," Matt says, stifling a yawn. "Nearly done for now, but you never know."

"You never do," Alex agrees. "Say hello to everyone from me. And Kaz too, I suppose."

"Hey," he says. "It's definitely you." A funny little shorthand, but his meaning is clear: it's committment-light, something she can accept without promising too much.

"I'm glad to hear it," she says, so light she'd swear she could fly. 

"Text me next time you have a minute," he says. "We'll talk again. Without the moon looming overhead."

"Definitely," she says. "Sweet dreams, darling."

"Night," he says, and then she disconnects before she gets caught up in his eyes all over again. 

"Safe now," she calls to Karen, who emerges from her bedroom.

"Arthur wants to know how it went," she announces. "Good, yeah? I didn't hear any shouting."

"It went fine," Alex says.

"And?" Karen prompts.

"And we'll try it out," Alex tells her. "Not that it's exactly your business." She pretends to be prim and serious, but she can't keep her face from cracking. She's all smiles. 

"Don't talk rubbish!" Karen says. "Of course it's my business! I want you to be happy just as much as he does, although not in entirely the same way. We all do. Family's got to stick together." She crashes down on the sofa next to Alex. "All sorted?"

"Sorted," Alex assures her. "Thank you, Kaz."

Karen hugs her. "What are friends for, if not to mercilessly force you to talk to the man you just can't get out of your mind and want back in your bed? Even if it's Smith. Not sure that was the best decision." She elbows Alex, grinning.

"I am," Alex says, and it's the absolute truth.

"Disgusting," Karen says happily.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Matt have a Skype date. It ends well for both of them.

It's weeks before they actually manage to arrange anything, aside from a lot of texts and Skype date every few days. Generally they're quite short, fifteen minutes of murmuring sweet nothings and catching up on the minutia of the day, nothing more than an excuse to see each other. Alex can feel her stress level plummet as soon as Matt's face comes into focus. The more the talk, the better she feels: about him, about them, about life, about everything. Everything except the distance, anyway. She's nearly going mad, wanting to feel his skin against hers again. One memorable occasion, they manage to block off enough time that Alex takes her computer into her bedroom and locks her door, even though no one else is home - she doesn't want to lose track of time and create a potentially embarrassing situation.

"We're alone now," she murmurs, sitting down on the bed.

"Just you and me and eighty-six hundred kilometers between us," he says wryly from his own bed. "What will happen next?"

Alex strips off her shirt. She's pleased that she put on a nice bra, just in case. Matt stares through the screen. His throat bobs as he swallows hard.

"Okay," he says, slow and throaty. 

She smiles at him, letting wickedness creep into her grin. "Not quite what you expected?"

"Definitely not expected," he says. "Dreamed of, absolutely."

"Fortunately, I've decided to give you whatever you'd like today," she says. "Provided that you ask for it."

"Just to be sure," he says, "I am actually awake, yeah?"

"I hope so," she tells him. 

"Have I won something? Did I do something good I don't know about?" he asks.

She chuckles. "I can't give you a present?"

"Not sure I deserve one yet," he says. His eyes are intent, hungry, loving. He looks at her as if she's an ice cream, something delicious that he has to lap up before it melts all over his hands. 

God, she'd like to melt all over his hands. Metaphorically. She's wet just watching him watch her. She thinks about how his hands would slide over her body, how his fingers would explore her. Her eyes nearly flutter shut and she forces herself to come back to the present moment. She's getting a bit ahead of herself.

"It isn't as if I'm not thinking of you," she says. "When I touch myself, I mean. I thought you might like to have a say. Since you can't be here to give input in person."

"Which I regret more with every second," he murmurs. "I have to ask?"

"Say please," she tells him, thoroughly enjoying this already. It's a moderately big step to take, but hell, _wer A sagt, muss auch B sagen_. Whatever they have might implode, and it might as well happen sooner than later. She honestly doesn't know a better way to handle the distance. If she gets her heart broken, she'll cry all over Karen's shoulder, and then she'll move on with her life. It isn't as if she hasn't had the practice. She might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Or maybe that's the endorphins from this morning's workout talking, but she's desperate for a taste of him, even if this is the only way she can get it. 

She raises one eyebrow at him and he takes off his own shirt, very deliberately. 

"Now we're even," he says. "Although I'm not so nice to look at."

"I can't get enough," she tells him, and he gives her a crooked smile. 

"So, asking?" he says. "Can I ask why?"

She shrugs, coy. "We're working on our communication skills."

"Ah," he says. "Not a power trip?"

"Of course it's a power trip," she corrects him. "For me. I'm _making_ you ask. Nicely. The anticipation will get you, if nothing else. And we'll certainly do more talking than last time."

"I hadn't thought of that," he murmurs. "I think I like it."

"I think you do," she tells him. 

He looks extremely thoughtful and extremely aroused all at once. "Please," he says quietly. "Touch your - hell, I don't know what to call them. Breasts? Tits?"

"Tits is fine," she assures him. "This isn't a clinic. _Seduce_ me, Smith."

"Please touch your tits," he says, and his voice has gone all low and growly and urgent. She raises her left hand and touches her fingertips to the side of her neck. She lets her fingers trail down from her shoulder, following the line of her bra strap, and slide around the curve of her breast. Her thumb grazes the lacy edge of her bra. 

"Both hands," he says. "Please."

Her right hand copies what the left did, exquisitely slowly, making him wait, and then she's sitting there cupping her tits in her hands. 

He clears his throat. "Please stroke your nipples." 

She eases her thumbs over the tight buds of her nipples. The detail on the webcam isn't perfect, but she's sure he can see the roundness of them through the lace of her bra. It's rather sheer, after all. He watches her and she can almost feel the heat of his eyes on her, eighty-six hundred kilometers aside. 

"Play with them, please," he says.

"With what?" she teases.

"Play with your tits," he tells her, shifting on his bed. "Show me how you want to be touched. Please."

Oh, yes, she likes this game very much. She's enjoying the contrast of the naked lust on his face and the polite way that he asks, the roughness in his voice when he says the word "please". She caresses her tits, taking them in her palms and squeezing, pinching her nipples gently, making sure that she strokes along the sensitive underside, just above the wire of her bra. The lace enhances the sensation as it scratches gently against her skin. She bites her lip, enjoying herself. Matt's eyelids are low and his expression is very focused as he watches her through the fall of his hair. She's going to miss that hair when he shaves it off for his movie. At least maybe she'll get to watch it grow back.

She teases her nipples for a few minutes, pinching deliberately, rolling them between her fingertips until they sting just a little, and then smoothing her hands over her tits. She's hot all over now, definitely ready to strip off the rest of her clothes. It was an oversight not to step out of frame and shed them all in the first place, but now she gets to make him beg for it. 

As if he's reading his mind, the next words out of his mouth are, "Take off your skirt, please." 

"Tit for tat, my love," she purrs, and he slides out of her view for a moment. She sheds her skirt but leaves her knickers on. Through the speakers, she can hear the noise of his belt unbuckling and his jeans hitting the floor. It would have been just as lovely if he'd left them on, she thinks - his long fingers fumbling with his zip, his jeans shoved down just enough to allow him access to his cock, his usual habits undone by urgency. But he looks so good in his pants that she lets that fantasy go. Another day, she'll get him so hot so fast he won't even have the capacity to get his kit off. Another day, because they'll have another day. At least this way she can see his cock outlined clearly against the thin fabric of his boxer-briefs. 

"Touch yourself, please," he says hoarsely. "Everywhere. Touch yourself anywhere you want me to touch you, please."

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Everywhere" is a tall order. There are some things she's going to make him ask for explicitly. The computer gets pushed to the foot of the bed so that he can see all of her as she lounges on her pillows. She runs her hands over her ribs, her hips, her belly. She trails her fingertips along her thighs. Her palms slide up her body slowly and luxuriously until she's caressing her tits again. She strokes her face, pushing her cheek into the cup of her palm, and traces the line of her neck. Matt watches her, eyes intense, his own hand twitching a little on his thigh, the pad of his thumb grazing his cock. Alex smiles lazily and eases her fingers down the center of her belly, down past the lace of her knickers, hovering over her clit. She can feel how wet she is, the moisture soaking through the lace. Her cunt is hot and heavy. 

"Ah, fuck," he says, gazing at her as if he's hypnotized. 

Her hand wanders down the inside of her thigh. She raises her leg and smooths her hand over her knee and shin, down to her toes.

"Did you think you'd get away with everywhere?" she murmurs. "Because I want all of you, all over me, but you have to ask."

"I _want_ to be all over you," he says fervently. "Christ, _Alex_."

"Mmm, say it again," she tells him, teasing.

" _Alex_ ," he says, and it really does send a frisson through her, a shivery tingle of delight and intense desire. His voice is rough. He leans back against his own pillows and she relishes the way his muscles flex under his skin. 

"I think you're still wearing too many clothes," she says. 

"And you don't have to ask?" he says, but his thumbs are already hooked under the elastic of his pants. He shoves them down.

"Of course not," she says. "It's your turn today. It will be my turn another day, I'm sure." 

"You can ask me anything," he says softly. "You know that, I hope."

"And believe me, I'm thinking up plenty of questions," she tells him, ignoring the way the look on his face makes her heart thud. "But right now, I'm lying here on this bed, waiting."

"Take your knickers off, please," he says. 

She eases out of them slowly, pushing the lace down her thighs, enjoying herself thoroughly. She's got a camera and a very willing audience - she might as well put on a show. She lets her back arch as she slides her knickers over her knees and finally kicks them off. 

"Better?" she asks.

"In some ways," he says. "Other ways, it only makes things harder."

"Does it," she says knowingly. He's naked now too, and he's _beautiful_. 

"Ha," he says. "Touch yourself, please." She waits. He clears his throat. "Touch your clit, please. Show me."

She splays her fingers over her belly and slides them slowly down, all the way down. Her middle finger grazes her clit and she lets herself make a small sound. He groans in response. She lets her fingers ease between her folds, seeking the moisture there. Her fingertips tease her entrance; when they're properly slick, she draws them back up to her clit. She strokes her clit in slow small circles, her head tipping back at the bliss of it. She wishes that her fingers were his, but she can imagine. She lets one knee fall to the side, offering him a better view. Her instruction won't be much use if he can't see what she's doing. And she can see what _he's_ doing - he's found a bottle of lube. It isn't open yet, but it sits next to his leg like a promise. Alex smiles to herself and lets her hand slip down so that her thumb is on her clit and her fingers can push gently against her entrance.

"Jesus," he says, almost slurring the word. His fingers tense on his thigh. She can tell that he wants to touch himself, to thrust into his fist until he comes, his eyes on her the whole time. She's impressed by the way he's holding out. She lets her fingers slide into herself, her thumb still stroking her clit. 

"I want _your_ fingers," she murmurs. "I wish you were here."

He groans. "Me too."

"Soon," she says. 

" _Please_ ," he says. "It can't come soon enough."

"I can," she says. "Do you want me to?"

"Fuck, _yes_ ," he says urgently. "Show me how, please."

She pushes two fingers into herself, just up to the first joint at first and then deeper and deeper, over and over. She fucks herself with her fingers, watching him watch her. His fingertips are digging into the hard muscle of his thigh now. She pushes her hips up against her hand. God, it feels good. Not the same as his hands would feel, but good all the same. She's flushed all over, hot all over, pleasure searing through her veins. She moans and he swears, clearly loving it, clearly wanting more. 

"You're so fucking gorgeous," he says.

"Likewise," she gasps. 

"I love hearing you," he says. 

"Well, I am quite the screamer," she tells him.

"Ah," he says, and his fingers flex. "Do you have the Rabbit?"

"Of course," she says.

"I've always been curious, since that interview," he says. "Will you use it for me, please?"

"If you like," she tells him, a thrill going through her. That seems naughtier even than what they're already doing, and she likes it. She retrieves the Rabbit from its drawer and slots the batteries in. Anticipation buzzes through her, matching the whir as she turns it on. 

"It's bigger than I thought," Matt says.

"Don't worry," she says. "I prefer the _au naturel_ sensation." She winks. "But this will do for now." 

"Show me how you want me to fuck you," he says. "Please. Bearing in mind that I don't have any kind of animal attached to my cock."

"I can see that," she teases him. "Are you going to join me?"

"Should I?" he asks.

"Learning goes both ways," she tells him. 

She reaches for her own bottle of lube and slicks some over the Rabbit, just in case. It slides in easily, filling her up. She moans loudly, shifting her hips until her body adjusts. The Rabbit's ears tease her clit and the pearls massage her cunt. Matt drips lube into his palm and reaches for his cock. She loves the tender, practiced way his fingers curl around his shaft. She thrusts the Rabbit into herself, spreading her legs to accommodate more of it. Matt groans, rubbing his thumb over the head of his cock. Alex smiles and fucks herself slowly, taking the toy deep before pulling it out and thrusting it in again. Her back arches and her hips lift. God, she wishes he were here. She wants to feel his weight against her body. She wants to feel the warmth of his skin inside her instead of the cool jelly of the vibrator. She flicks the speed higher and lets the buzz take her away. 

Matt's hand moves faster the louder she moans. He's groaning louder too. His face is tight with effort. She can tell he's still holding back despite the quick movements of his fist around the shaft of his cock. With the hand that's not controlling the Rabbit, she squeezes her tits again, rolling her nipples between her fingertips. He gasps. 

"Oh, God, if you were here," Alex tells him, almost dizzy with pleasure. "I want you so much." The head of the toy keeps brushing against her G-spot; her hips jump every time, and Matt groans. 

"Come for me," he gasps. "Please. I want to hear you."

She can't resist his desire. She fucks herself faster, bearing down on the toy until she can feel the vibration all through her. She watches him while she does it, though she's sure her eyes are glazed. His eyelids droop as he looks at her. She can feel the orgasm building in her, a tight coil of pleasure, twisting tighter and tighter by the second. 

"Yes," she says, and he groans and thrusts faster into his hand. The pleasure twists, the pressure of it nearly painful, and she tweaks her nipple and leans into the vibrator until she's twisted just as tight as she can go. For a moment, she is teetering on the edge, and then she is undone, the recoil of the pleasure slamming through her body. She gasps. He shouts out, thrusting desperately into his hand, and then he's coming with a shudder, his eyes still locked with hers. 

"Christ," he says helplessly, and she laughs. She lies there, sprawled over the bed, hardly even having the energy to pull the Rabbit away and turn it off. She tosses it onto the pillow next to her. Matt is wiping himself down with his discarded pants. He looks just as boneless as she is. His face is all tender bliss. Watching him over the camera, it all feels nearly as intimate as if he were beside her, both of them sweaty and breathless. She wishes she could kiss him.

"Give us a kiss," he says, reading her mind again. She chuckles. 

"Was it good for you?" she asks.

"It was the best," he says fondly. "I need a shower now."

"Don't we all?" she says. "Another time, we'll get to wash up together."

"Yeah," he says. "Wish you didn't have to go."

"We've both got other things to tend to this time," she reminds him. "But one day, it won't be like that."

"Soon," he says. "I've been looking up plane tickets."

"Then I'll look up hotels," she tells him. 

They sit for a minute in silence, just looking at each other. It's perfect, even though it's awful, feeling so close and being so far away.

"Go and wash up," she says. "Get some sleep."

"Yeah," he says. "Miss you."

"Miss you too," she says. "Soon."

"Soon," he says. 

She signs off before they can dawdle too much longer, and before she says anything it's definitely too early to say. Good sex doesn't promise anything, even good long-distance sex. She wants this too much to jeopardize it. She knows she wouldn't spook him away, probably, but she'd scare the hell out of herself, taking things too fast. There's still so much they need to say to each other. 

She closes the laptop and sits there, her palm flattened over the shell of it as if touching it is the same as touching him. She almost doesn't want to wash, as if she'll be soaping away the touch of his hands, but that's too silly and sentimental to indulge. 

"Shower," she says aloud to herself. "Back to it. Sitting around like a moony schoolgirl isn't going to help anything. You've got a life to live."

She picks herself up and goes on with her day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just can't get over the Rabbit. I'm sure Matt can't either. I stole the German from [this site](http://german.about.com/library/blredew_intro.htm).


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Alex finally get away for a holiday.

Matt is more than excited when he steps off the plane in Salt Lake City. It's strange, being back in Utah, but Alex is standing outside the gate, fresh off her own flight, and he walks straight up to her and throws his arms around her, even though they're in the middle of the airport, even though he gets recognized everywhere. He can't not be touching her for another minute. Her pulled-back curls tickle his forehead and he breathes her in, filling his lungs with her.

" _Alex_ ," he says. 

She doesn't say anything, just squeezes him tightly. They hold on to each other for a few more seconds and then step back. Matt reaches out and takes her hand, raising his eyebrows at her to make sure it's okay. She laces her fingers between his and smiles.

"Have you got a bag?" she asks, and somehow it sounds ridiculously sensual. Maybe it's just her voice. 

"Yeah, seemed easier," he says. "You?"

"Of course," she says, leading him toward the sign that says Baggage Claim. "We might want to go skiing."

"Hah!" he says. "Only if you want to spend the rest of this in hospital." 

"I'd really rather spend it other places," she says, and that _definitely_ sounds promising. They saunter through the airport together. Matt can barely keep his hands off her. He wants to just waltz her into one of the first-class lounges and kiss her until they're both dizzy. From the furtive, sexy little glances she keeps giving him, he thinks she feels the same. Their Skype dates have just barely sustained him - all he's done the last few weeks is daydream about this. He's off filming for a bit, Salome is with Florian in Germany for winter hols, and they've got a blissful four days together before all of the Christmas stuff starts up. They've rented a cabin and it's highly unlikely that anyone will bother them. 

It's a struggle to keep his hands off her at the baggage claim - fortunately, they're on two different carousels - and then at the rental car counter. It's an hour to the cabin and he contents himself with gazing at her as she drives and occasionally leaning over to kiss her shoulder. She's wearing a big puffy coat, so it isn't as satisfying as he'd like, but it gets him through. He's fairly certain he could convince her to pull over for a proper kiss, but any longer they're on the road is less time at the cabin, so he just plays songs for her off his phone and they catch up on work gossip. They're climbing into the mountains and it's pretty much gorgeous - snow everywhere, and the mountains are simply massive.

As soon as they've dragged their bags out of the car and she's unlocked the door, she turns, grabs the front of his giant coat, and pulls him in for a kiss so hot that he'd swear it was midsummer. Her tongue licks urgently at his, her lips demanding more and more, and he gives her everything. If it weren't for the layers between them, he's almost certain that their skin would be sizzling where their bodies press against each other. He was half-hard for most of the drive and he's absolutely aching for her now. She seems just as desperate for him. Her hips shove against his and he presses back. She takes a step and then her shoulders are against the wall. She tugs at him until he stumbles into her, shoving her flat against the wall. He kisses the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her neck above the collar of her coat, and she gasps and nips at his ear, grinding against him until they're practically at it right there in the entryway of the cabin.

He's a little bit sweaty by the time she lets him go. He catches his breath and watches the dents of her hands in his coat slowly fill with air.

"Now there's a proper hello," she says with satisfaction. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are very bright.

"Hello," he tells her. 

"It's a lovely little place, isn't it?" she says, looking around the cabin as she unzips her coat and hangs it up. He follows suit - it's definitely too hot for a parka now. "A bit frontier, but that's what you get for renting a place that calls itself a cabin. Let's go find the bedroom, shall we?"

"I think that's a fine idea," he says.

She crooks a finger at him and he follows her to the bedroom, lifting her hair so that he can kiss the nape of her neck as he shuffles along behind her. She hums with pleasure and then turns to kiss him. He's impressed that she can walk at all while she's kissing him - he's certainly short on brain function - and even better, she's walking backwards. At the edge of the bed, she lets herself fall backwards, pulling him down on top of her, and if it weren't for all the clothes they're still wearing, it would be a very fine situation indeed. As it is, it's still pretty amazing. 

He braces himself with one knee between her thighs, kissing her in short little bursts. She kisses him back, reaching out for him, and it's perfect. It's everything he dreamed of. It could have been strange or awkward or wrong and it's not, and he's just so damn relieved. She's here with him, and neither of them have got anywhere else to be, and he's Matt and she's Alex and nothing has changed. Well, aside from everything, but this time only the right things have changed.

"Too many thoughts," she tells him. "And too many clothes."

"You're right," he says. 

"I can fix that," she tells him with a wicked smile. 

"Please do," he says.

She undresses him skillfully and he tries to do the same to her, but his fingers aren't quite as nimble. Still, they have a good laugh about it, and an even better snog about it, and at last they're both naked, stretched out on the bed together. He feels as if he's been waiting for this all of his life. When her skin brushes his, it's magical: sweetness sizzles through him and his heart thuds. Alex gazes at him through her lashes and he just wants to look into her eyes forever. He runs his hands all over her in wonder and she moans softly. He strokes her tits, ducking his head to lip at her nipples, and she moans again. 

"I learned something from that call," he murmurs, nuzzling at her skin. 

"Later," she says breathlessly. "Prove you were paying attention later. I need you."

He groans at the urgency in her voice. His pulse throbs in his cock. His fingers slide down her body, between her legs. She's incredibly wet and he wants her so goddamn badly, but he's considerate. There's no way he can make this last, not as long as he's been waiting. He finds her clit with his fingertips and she makes an incredibly sexy little noise of surprise. He's almost trembling with desire, but he takes his time, thumbing her clit until she's moaning. She kisses him like she's starving for his touch. Her fingers tremble in his hair, on his back, on his ass. Finally she just pushes at his chest until he's on his back, and then climbs on top of him. She pauses for a moment, straddling him, and kisses him almost senseless. He can feel the heat of her brushing the head of his cock.

"Still the right idea?" she asks.

"Even if you weren't naked on top of me," he says, reaching up to touch her face as she leans over him. "I didn't sit on a plane for that many hours to see someone I don't care about."

"Yes, I'm sure you could get laid at home," she says with a smirk.

"I'd rather be here, getting laid or not," he tells her. "Although this is definitely a bonus."

"Just checking," she says, and sinks slowly down on him. God, she's _heaven_. He fights to keep his hips still, because what he to do is thrust up into her again and again until they're both groaning. But he holds himself steady and lets her control everything, and she rises and falls in perfect rhythm. Pleasure ripples through him, hot and syrupy in his veins. She fits him like a glove, and judging from the look of bliss on her face, she feels the same. He reaches for her clit and she bites her lip and smiles at him as she moans, and fuck, he's almost out of his own body at how good it feels. 

They're sharing everything: every caress, every perfect touch, every spasm of pleasure. He's in her and he's with her and they're rising together, going up in flames together. He takes her other hand and presses her knuckles to his lips, kissing the backs of her fingers and her palm and then each individual fingertip. He can't stop touching her. He doesn't want to stop touching her. She looks down at him and he strokes her clit just like she showed him she liked it and he can feel her coming undone. Her knees tense around him and her back arches and her head tilts back and she's over the edge. He holds her hand tightly, murmuring to her.

"I'm here," he says, through the haze of ecstasy. She's the only thing he can see clearly. "God, Alex, I'm here."

She cries out. Her cunt spasms around him and he shudders, trying to keep from coming instantly. She slouches forward, bracing herself with one hand in the center of his chest, breathing in little moans. 

"Christ," she says after a moment. She's shaking a bit, but she looks extremely happy. Her hair has gone absolutely mad. It's a good look on her.

"That good?" he teases, pushing against her gently.

"The best," she says with a smile. "Go on."

He reaches out for her hips, holding her hard against him as he thrusts up into her. She balances over him, letting him rock her. She smiles at him and does - something, he can't be sure what, all he knows is that she's suddenly even tighter around him and he groans and he's nearly gone. And she's so gorgeous, rising and falling against him, and he's so fucking happy. 

"Yes," she whispers, and it ends in a moan, and he's done, he's gone, he's lost in her eyes and her smile and her body. He falls back onto the bed boneless and she lies down next to him, her hand still on his chest. She nestles against him and he pulls her close, kissing her forehead.

"Mmmm," she says. "Was it good for you?"

He laughs. "The best. Let's do it again."

"Yes, let's," she agrees. "But first, I'm dying for a bath."

"A _bath_ ," he says. "God, that's the only thing that could get me out of bed right now."

"Up you get," she says, rolling over and standing up. 

"I'll see you in there," he tells her. She throws him a saucy look over her shoulder and sashays into the bathroom. He watches her bare back. God, she's beautiful. He lounges in the bed, catching his breath, marveling at his luck. He's fancied her for so long - almost since the first day she showed up on set - and finally he's here with her. He's got the privilege to touch her and kiss her and tell her what she means to him. He's almost afraid to move in case he wakes up. But she's waiting and so is a hot bath, and he needs both.

He rolls out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom. Alex found some bubble bath and the tub is filled with froth. She smiles at him as she sets out her toiletries: conditioner, body wash, face wash, moisturizer. He never thought about how intimate a bottle of face wash could seem, but it's her face wash, and that makes it special. They're sharing this bathroom for the next four days, the two of them on holiday together. He never thought anything like this could happen. 

"Back on your feet already?" she teases. "I'll have try harder next time to put you out of commission."

"It was a valiant effort," he assures her, going over and stroking her back. "But the thought of a bath revived me."

"Test the waters," she says. 

"I'll do better than that," he tells her, and climbs into the tub. It's nice and roomy and the water's perfect. He holds out his hand. She takes it and steps in carefully, sitting down between his legs. She leans back against his chest. Matt loops one bubble-covered arm around her shoulders and he isn't sure he's ever wanted anything more than this.

They soak in the hot water for a good while, not even talking, just enjoying each other's company. She runs her hands gently over his legs. He caresses her collarbones. The steam rises and fogs the frosted window and the mirror. Matt can smell lavender and the lingering scent of sex in Alex's hair. He presses a kiss to her ear and she chuckles. 

"Be honest, Kingston," he murmurs. "Have you ever had this much fun in a cabin in Utah?"

"Definitely not," she says.

"Me either," he tells her. "This is a first."

"I never imagined this," Alex says, splashing gently in the water.

"I dreamed it," Matt says. "Well. Maybe not exactly this. But something like this."

"Quite the psychic you would have been," she teases him. 

"Just glad I didn't ruin everything," he murmurs.

"Despite our best efforts," she says. 

He shifts, intending to kiss her, but somehow manages to slide down and knock them both over. Alex slips and nearly dunks her head. He catches her just too late. Fortunately, the tub is large enough that nothing gets flooded, but Alex reaches back and squeezes her hair and water pours out of it. 

"I wasn't intending to wash it," she says wryly. "But I suppose it's wet now." She gently untangles her curls from her hair tie and reaches for the bottle of conditioner.

"No shampoo?" he asks.

"Definitely not," she says. "It would go mad. Madder than usual. I'd be one big frizz." The weight of the water has taken some of the spring out of her curls. They hang long and loose and heavy around her face. 

Matt brushes a curl or two back. "I didn't know curly hair was different."

Alex smiles wryly. "It isn't wash and wear like yours." She squeezes a puddle of conditioner into her hand and starts to smooth it over her hair. She closes her eyes as she pushes her fingers through her hair.

"Can I help?" Matt asks. "Otherwise I'm just sitting here, I mean."

"Not a terribly exciting vacation for you, I think," she says, smiling. "Washing my hair isn't much of a highlight."

"I like having my hair washed at the barber's," he says. "It feels good. I want to make you feel good."

She looks at him with a sweet, soft, slightly wistful expression. "All right," she says. "Be gentle."

She turns in the tub and sits with her back to him. She passes him the bottle of conditioner. "Like lube, it's best to use more than you think you need," she says with a wink. He laughs and pours a pool of conditioner into his palm. Gently, carefully, he begins to work it through her curls. He goes slowly, palming conditioner first from the roots of her hair to the tips and then using his fingertips to massage her scalp. His thumbs stroke up the sides of her neck as he massages the back of her head. She leans back into him with a sigh of pleasure.

It's amazing, somehow, to have her head cradled in his hands, to perform this act of service for her. Not as arousing as what they were doing before, but just as intimate. Definitely just as sensual. The steam rises and her damp skin is warm against his. The creamy conditioner soaks slowly into her slightly-rough curls. He can hear her pleased little murmurs and the occasional slosh of the water as she moves. Everything is utterly peaceful. He'd swear he can feel his heart opening up. 

He feels even more connected to her now than when they were making love. She's more vulnerable now, somehow. Anybody can fuck, he supposes, but this is pure domesticity. He gives himself into her service and she accepts him. He's caring for her in a way that maybe nobody else has bothered to. He's never touched anyone this way himself. It's liberating, in a way. His hands speak for him. Every word he can't say to her yet he lets his fingers express. There can be no misunderstandings now. His intentions are clear. His feelings for her are unmistakable. His hands worship her, caress her, restore her. I am with you, his fingers tell her, I am for you.

He pours more conditioner into his hands and carefully untangles her curls. It's slow going, very slow, but he'd rather take his time than risk causing her pain. He runs his hands through her hair as he listens to her happy sighs and notes the movements of her body. Her curls are soaks with conditioner now; it doesn't take much work to coax them away from each other. If she flinches, he stops and starts again, more careful this time. Slowly the damp mass of her hair resolves into distinct curls. When her hair is free of tangles, he cups his hands and fills them with water to rinse her hair, pouring with one hand as his other hand combs through her curls, making sure he doesn't undo his work. 

"There," he says, passing his hand over her shoulder. 

She stirs against him. "That was incredible," she says. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_ ," he tells her. He tips her face up very gently and kisses her. She lies against his chest and he wraps his arms around her.

"We should probably have something to eat," she says.

His stomach growls. "Definitely."

"And you should stay up until it gets dark at least," she tells him. "Otherwise the jet lag will be worse."

"I think we can find ways to occupy ourselves," he teases.

"Oh, absolutely," she says. 

"Can I just say that this was a fantastic idea?" he asks.

"You may," she says. "Now, out of this tub and into the kitchen. We've got to keep our strength up, after all." 

"Yes, marm," he teases, and they laugh as he reaches for the towels and she toes open the drain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can actually rent [the cabin](http://www.homeaway.com/vacation-rental/p236904vb) I used for inspiration here. And curly-headed people: I did my best to respect the hair!


End file.
